


All's Well

by Neftzer_nettlestonenell



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: But not going the same direction as Season 7, Does not directly contradict Season 7, Gen, OUAT AU following Season 6, Swanfire - Freeform, as it takes place before Henry rides out of Storybrooke on that motorcycle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:06:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neftzer_nettlestonenell/pseuds/Neftzer_nettlestonenell
Summary: Henry Mills, enrolled in college in NYC, shows up unexpectedly back in Storybrooke, where the OUAT gang is living out their Happy Endings.





	1. Sneaking In

It was autumn in Maine. Snow White was never happier than when the fall colors burst onto the trees of her and Charming’s farm. Unless it was in Spring, when the birds returned and the trees were budding. Or Winter, when her namesake fell gracefully from the sky. Or Summer when—

Anyway, it was Autumn, college back in session for several weeks, when Henry Mills unexpectedly stepped off the bus and into town.

“Henry!” shouted Granny from where she was raking up a few leaves around her patio seating area.

Henry raised his hand and waived in her direction, weighing in his mind if it made sense to sidetrack himself by walking over to chat a moment with her or not. Granny might know where his mom was. Then again, it was Granny, and she might also take him to task for being in Storybrooke instead of back in New York attending Professor Laykin’s seminar on ‘Elements of Style in Essay Writing’. Quickly, he ducked down a side alley made up mostly of trees, to dodge having to confess his hooky-playing to Granny, or anyone else that might cross his path.

It wasn’t long before he regretted his decision.

Upon arriving at Emma’s two-story, he audibly groaned to notice the fridge was 97% empty of anything immediately edible that wasn’t ice cream. He should totally have risked Granny’s disapproval if it would have meant warm food.

While he tried to think of some way to still the noise threatening to grow in his belly, he shot a text to his mom: _Can u come home? Alone? Need 2 talk._ He hit send, and then took a chance, sending a follow-up asking, _Brng snax?_

It took a minute or two before she replied: _UR worrying me. B right there. W/ snax._

_Don’t worry_ , he typed, adding to himself that he was anxious enough right now for the both of them.


	2. You're Not Thinking What I'm Thinking

**Swan Household, Storybrooke -** “Henry,” said Emma, after waiting for her son to finish what (if his exuberance in eating it was any indication) was his only meal of the day, thus far. “What’s up, kid? Skipping out on your classes? Ditching the Big Apple for _Storybrooke_?” Her mouth cracked into a skeptical smile. “Who are you, and what have you done with Regina’s son?” She teased him; there would be nothing about her, Emma’s, son playing hooky that would be unusual.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, trying to both reassure her and prepare her for what was to come.

“What do you think I think?” she asked, the smile of having him home as yet undimmed.

“I dunno,” he shook his head, “It’s just—” his eyebrows drew together, “there’s no way you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Well,” Emma sat back, willing to listen as long as it might take, “Mostly I’m thinking about make-up work, and bus fare here and back, and what you told your on-campus job you were doing to get out of your shift. That’s mostly what I’m thinking.” Her arms had crossed, but the smile was still there.

Henry nodded his head. All valid points.

“Don’t forget,” she admonished him, “this is me—no matter how long it might seem like I’ve ‘settled down’, I’m still top of the class when it comes to playing hooky, running away, and looking for geographical solutions to your problems.”

Henry nodded again, a smile tugging at his own mouth.

“So, level with me, Kid. You’re fed, I’m here. Let’s talk.”

“It’s—ah--about something I want to write.”

“O-okay—” she could not imagine what he might want to write that would have him so tightly strung, and needing to talk about first. How hard could writing something be? Pen strokes, key strokes, and there it was.

“I mean,” Henry attempted to counter any possibly-coming on confusion, “I don’t think I can write as The Author anymore. Pretty sure that’s gone, lost now.”

Emma nodded, but there was something slightly more reserved in her demeanor.

“Well, I’ve got this professor—he’s a writing professor—really amazing, and he talks a lot about how you need to find something you really care about, that you’re passionate about, and write about that.”

“Mm-hmmm,” _Man, she was not enjoying waiting for Henry to drop the other shoe. It was starting to make her feel uneasy._

“Well, I’ve been hanging out in the Public Library, in the rooms—” he always stuttered a little over inserting his father’s name into anything he said, especially here in Storybrooke. (Though speaking of him to Emma was easier than to most.)“-- _Dad_ was using for his research on magic, you know? And I’ve really been sort of—thinking about what that professor said, soul-searching, thinking about passion, trying to find what mine is, and, the only thing I really feel that passionate about is—”

“Yeah? What?”

“I wanna write dad’s story. The story of Neal Cassidy. Of _Baelfire_.”

She could not control her eyebrows’ reaction. Not what she had expected. Not even in the same ballpark with why she thought he might be here. _Neal’s story_. But why sweat that? 

“Great,” was what she said. “That’s awesome. But why come all the way home to make that announcement? I mean, I guess your professors read all kinds of sci-fi and fantasy. Probably won’t think twice. Like that book you tried to get me to read—what was that? Dr. Strange and Jonathon Morel?”

“ **Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell**. Yeah, sure, I’m sure they do read all kinds of things. But it’s just—well, you know, _we’re_ not _normal_. And no matter how much we all believe the power left me,” he shrugged, “I _was_ The Author. When I wrote things down, things happened; powerful and transformative things. Dad’s story’s full of magic. Who knows what powers writing it down might summon—Even if I write it out there in the World Without Magic? Would Storybrooke remain untouched?”

Emma gave a strong nod to his sound logic. “Good point.”

“And…” he looked over to as he had when a small boy, sitting in his soon-to-be-dismantled wooden castle. “I want your permission.”

“My permission?” she nearly laughed. “Why would you need that?”


End file.
